I often dream of being successful; rich, admired, mum proud of me.
I sometimes get lost in these daydreams of easy living, of early-to-mid 1900’s writer fantasies in which I just live in Paris or NYC and get paid by to give people my words.
I’m invariably widely acclaimed, spend much time in leisure, or forceful pursuits, Hemingway-esque.
It always feels so close, on the very brink.
I never envision the years of rejections and honing of craft and belittlement by others for bearing down relentlessly on their dream.
No, to me it feels an idea away, a brilliant novel sitting in the back of my cranium, just waiting for the right stimuli to bubble it to the surface, to birth it.
I’m pretty sure. So when I realise that I spent my free hour before my 12-hour shift daydreaming instead of putting words down, sharpening the saw, I don’t mind, so much.
A Haiku on patience
How many Syllables?
Oh shit, have I fucked this up?
You know when you have been sick for a while, say a week
You get better, and everything just seems to be looking up, the volume gets turned back up on life and for a little while, the colours are a bit sharper, the people a little friendlier.
You appreciate nothing more than just feeling well, you want to do things, see people, take joy in the little everyday activities that just yesterday seemed so arduous and taxing.
That’s how you make me feel
Bouncers and referees, jobs such as these, fulfil an interesting role.
They prevent we civilised, rational human beings of the 21st century from both;
getting drunk and beating each other to death
you spilt my drink bro and you were totally staring at my girlfriend
getting so emotional and worked up from casual men’s league division 4 basketball that a brawl erupts.
I signed up for an online course, $838 dollars for the convenience of not taking time off work, which I guess falls under the term counter-intuitive. But hey, it’s expanding my horizons.
The first assessment is a quiz, and it’s got my favourite question, I think ever.
From the multiple choice answers offered, it advises me to choose the correct six choices.
Coincidentally, the first six seem to be the right ones, but then it turns out that there are only six options.
I do quite well on the first assessment.
Normally I’m pretty good at small talk, asking people questions about how they’ve been and what their plans are for the future. But sometimes, it just doesn’t come out and my hesitation chokes me into silence like a piece of meat, insufficiently chewed.
They’ll throw out their opening line. maybe;
How are you?
Yeah, pretty good——
And it’s off, mind scrambling to think of something to say, something relevant to recall about this person showing a polite interest in my life, but it freezes, stagnates, the silence goes on too long, creeps into awkward territory. I might raise my coffee to my lips to show that I have said all I have.
More often than not, the other person falters, but recovers, flailing out another question or launching a diatribe about themselves, which I greatly appreciate.
It’s worst when they’re multiple. Then they can just shoot each other a glance
“This guy is weird”
and continue on with each other, my opportunity dead, the awkwardness settling between us like a fog.
It’s nice, it’s cool, there isn’t much ambient noise, so if you have headphones in, all you hear is your background music and the easy ragged breathes when your feet tap the ground, over and over.
My mind wanders freely when I run, hood pulled up, the internal heat building up in my head and chest, ventilation lacking, warming me. I don’t know if it’s because my brain is focusing on something else, but it seems to let it’s walls down when I run. Things I either consciously or subconsciously keep down rise to the surface.
“Was I not good enough for her, is she happy now? With who?”
“Am I kidding myself with this job, what I think I can make out of it?”
“Where does my time go? Am I just a prisoner carving dashes the wall, waiting for for my time to be up?”
“Am I lonely, or comfortable being alone?”
Yep, running is the time for angst. It’s good though, it gets it out of the way and I go back to living my smiley, unobserved life, self doubt a little tamed by another few kilometres on black asphalt under flickering lights.
Clothes can make or break your day.
Ill-fitted, chafing, too cold, warm, mismatched or confidence draining.
Now a lot of us have the luxury to purchase clothes from huge variety of manufacturers, retailers, materials, to hunt and find the perfect jacket for the coming winter, the perfect shoes for working those long hours.
If the clothes aren’t a good fit, we notice, we feel uncomfortable, we become inclined to find replacements.
Not with friends though.
via Daily Prompt: Tailor
She used to occupy my thoughts all the time.
After we parted though, either consciously or as a by-product of time passing,
s he got buried, deep in my mind.
Now she’s way down in that lizard part, only bursting forth, called upon, in moments of great fear or anger.
Like the mid-air dump of adrenaline from a high fall, the instinctual violence against a paralysing threat.
You forget about it but, always it’s with you, there when you need it.
via Daily Prompt: Bury
My city is split by a wide, winding river lined with restaurants and lively bars for your enjoyment, flooding occasionally to give you a sense of community solidarity and something to talk about.
It’s one am and I’m sitting by the black, snaking mass on my break.
Drunk revellers stumble past laughing, music thumps dully in the background,
but the night is calm and it’s starting to rain.
Laughing couples dash for cover as the drops light up the river with a thousand ripples of reflections and it seems to me like a giant fabric just dancing and waving all at once, lit up in brilliant purple and red from the lights of the bridge.
All the other noise seems to drop away and god you know, the sound of the rain hitting water is the most beautiful thing I’ve ever heard.
I close my eyes and imagine being out on my own, on a little sail boat in the middle of the ocean, totally alone, at peace, sailing away with nothing in sight.
I imagine this is what it would sound like.
I feel myself smiling.
I open my eyes, the club music unmutes itself in my head.
Eyes drifting to my watch tell me I need to return to work.
I realise I’ve got three hours left, in wet clothes.
but the faint little smile doesn’t leave my lips for far longer than that.
via Daily Prompt: Sail